


Mishpacha

by tptigger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (not graphic), AU: Isaac is Jewish, Gen, Pack Dynamics, mentions of canonical child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tptigger/pseuds/tptigger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac goes to temple to say the Mourner's Kaddish for his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mishpacha

**Author's Note:**

> I've marked this as an AU even though we have no canonical religion for Isaac and his dad. The story is meant to take place between seasons 2 and 3.0. Much thanks to Ladyslvr and PunkPInkPower for beta reading.
> 
> I did all the transliterating myself, and the translation for the first line of the kaddish is taken from my congregation's siddur (though holy cow, I hadn't realized that was a gimmel! Too familiar with the words, I guess.)

Isaac slipped to the cordoned off corner of the abandoned railway station that was his "room" to change after dinner.

The suit he had carefully pressed lay neatly on his bed. He wasn't entirely certain how no one realized that he wasn't really living with anyone, but Derek kept coming back with bits of furniture and he'd been kind of surprised the day an ironing board appeared in a corner. 

Isaac wasn't sure what Derek decided to get that for, but at least it had come in handy. He glanced idly at the more comfortable clothes in his closet; no one would notice or care, but his father wouldn't want him going to shul without a jacket and tie. Isaac glanced at his watch. If he wanted to catch his bus to Blue Bay Harbor, he'd better get going, so he grabbed his talit bag.

He'd kind of expected some kind of cursory "Where are you going?" from Derek; he wasn't the type of 16 year old to go wandering around in a suit on Friday nights after all, and the light windbreaker he wore against the California night chill in the air did nothing to cover up how dressed up Isaac was, but the older man was nowhere to be seen.

Isaac figured things were easier that way. He zipped up the windbreaker and headed for the bus stop.

* * *

An hour later, he walked the two blocks to shul from the bus stop, sniffing the air uncertainly.

Something was familiar, but he wasn't sure what. He turned into the building, and took a deep breath, the scents like a cacophony of different perfumes and colognes, cleaning agents, and sweet, kosher wine and grape juice for the kiddish. He opened his talit bag long enough to remove his keepa and place the skullcap on his head. He zipped it again: the prayer shawl could wait until he was in the actual sanctuary.

He wasn't sure what kind of reception he was going to get. His dad had been the President of the congregation long ago, before his mom had died. Dad was pretty well respected here. The circumstances of his father's death had been all over the papers. As had what had happened in the basement.

Isaac just didn't know what to expect.

"Lahey," said a familiar voice, and he was shoulder-checked from behind.

"Greenberg," he replied.

They'd been through Hebrew school together, and that was basically the entire ritual, straight out of the boys' locker room at school. It was a small congregation, but they'd never really been friends. Other than Matt, he hadn't really had any friends before becoming part of the pack. 

He hung his windbreaker in the cloak room, and was then swept up in an enormous hug. "Why didn't you tell me?" Rabbi Fleshman's voice boomed.

Isaac scrubbed a hand over his face. Though, he'd take this over the other possible reaction. "I wasn't sure if you'd believe me." He couldn't quite meet Rabbi Fleshman in the eyes.

A gentle hand brought up his chin. "I'll always believe you. Are you all right now? Who's looking after you?"

Isaac took a deep breath. "I'm kind of..."

"I am," said a voice from behind the rabbi.

Isaac jumped as Derek walked around to stand behind him. Derek was going to give him so much grief about sneaking up *in front of* Isaac.

Rabbi Fleshman looked Derek up and down, his nose wrinkling in a way that Isaac remembered from when he couldn't quite learn how to write his Hebrew letters--no matter how well Isaac could read them. Isaac flinched, wondering what questions might be coming, but then the Rabbi's eyes flicked to the entrance and recognition registered there as well. "Well, I'm glad you brought Isaac tonight, he needs his community." Rabbi Fleshman turned back to Isaac. "I want to see more of you. I hear the teen Torah study group hasn't been the same the last few months." Then he looked up, focusing more clearly, and Isaac saw the familiar 'someone else I need to talk to' look pass over the Rabbi's face. He pointed a finger at Isaac. "Give me a call and swing by once school lets out for the summer. In the meantime, Torah study. Excuse me."

The rabbi left before Isaac could explain that Torah study conflicted with LaCrosse practice and he'd had to give up on Boy Scouts for Hebrew School, so there was only so much...

Derek cleared his throat and Isaac gulped, not sure how Derek was going to react to that last conversation-- or why he was wearing a suit and tie.

"I would have if you'd asked," Derek said.

Isaac looked at him.

"Brought you," Derek said. "Hell of a long bus ride. We're going to talk about how to know cars are tailing you; you'll be spending enough time on buses for the LaCrosse team. You want to tell me what we're doing here?"

Isaac just stared at him.

Derek lowered his voice. "You're scared. You're hurting. I didn't think you should be alone. Do you not get what pack means?"

"I..." Isaac shifted. Uncomfortably. "Wanted to say Kaddish. For Dad. I didn't even get to go to the funeral."

"And you didn't ask me for a ride because?"

"I didn't want to be a bother, and you..." Isaac stumbled forward as someone nearly tacklehugged him from behind. The old Isaac might have tripped, but he managed to keep his balance though his eyes flashed yellow in surprise. He pulled himself together as the disruption was accompanied by a familiar voice.

"Where have you been? We haven't seen you since Chanukah and were afraid Abe had mistaken you for a goat!" asked Becky Goldstein.

"Hi, Becky," Isaac said, hoping that she didn't accuse him of abandoning his "wife" as he wriggled out of her bear hug. The forefathers jokes got old; he was just glad they didn't have a Rachel and Leah, or poor Jacob would have been driven nuts. And then Derek might have tried to turn Jacob. Yeah, they couldn't have that, it could get weird. Or ugly. He turned to face Becky just as she shoved a stray lock of brown hair out of her face. "The Torah study group conflicts with Lacrosse."

"Does that mean you'll be back for the summer?" Becky asked, green eyes growing wider. "I don't think we're going to get through D'varim without you and Jake getting into it on translation arguments."

"Seriously, you'd think Jake didn't trust me with a Hebrew-English dictionary," Isaac said. "The Stone isn't the be all and end all of translations after all."

Becky smiled, softening her elven face. Isaac had never realized that Becky was pretty when she smiled. "So you're coming when LaCrosse is over?"

"It looks like everyone's going in," Derek said, gently taking Isaac's arm. He wasn't pulling, but Isaac realized it wouldn't be hard to make it _look_ like Derek was pulling.

Sometimes his alpha was dense, and sometimes he was seriously sneaky. Isaac couldn't tell from the touch whether that was permission or a subtle hint to forget it.

"I think we'll have to see," Isaac said, glancing nervously back at Derek and wondering how much time he would have over the summer; they still needed to find Boyd and Erica.

Becky took his hand. "Come on, you have to sit with my family, Mom's going to want a word."

"Translation: dinner invitation," Isaac muttered under his breath as Becky started towards the double doors that led into the sanctuary proper. "Just a second," he added, aloud, as they reached the table where the extra keepot were kept. He grabbed one and handed it to Derek.

Derek looked at Isaac as if he'd just suggested that Derek adopt Allison.

"It's respectful," Isaac said.

Derek shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not going to be struck by lightning or anything right?"

"For respecting our traditions? No." He lowered his voice. "If it's the religious iconography, mine has Stars of David on it too. I think you're good."

Derek smirked, breathed, "that's vampires you moron," and then placed the keepa on his head.

"Thanks," Isaac said, finally giving into Becky's pulling and following her into the sanctuary, trying not to react to Derek's barely disguised laughter that he was sure was only audible to any werewolves in the vicinity.

Becky's parents slid down to make extra room as they saw them approaching, and a concern popped unbidden into Isaac's head: Mrs. Goldstein was a social worker and Derek's custody of him wasn't exactly official. However, it was too late to bolt to the other side of the sanctuary, and it would've felt weird sitting on the other side--it would have felt weird not sitting next to the Goldsteins; he and his father always had, so Isaac followed Becky into the row of seats, conscious of Derek at his heels.

Derek must have sensed that something was off, because he squeezed Isaac's shoulder, and stood close, nearly hovering. Isaac wondered if there was a special werewolf signal for 'back off before someone thinks your intentions are less than honorable.'

Becky's mother stepped around her and pulled Isaac into a big hug. "Why didn't you say something? I could have helped!"

Isaac felt Derek step back as his tension eased. He had to wonder if Derek was just really, really good at body language, or if he was just that tuned to fluctuations in Isaac's scent.

How Derek could smell anything besides all the perfume, cologne, and after shave that various congregants were wearing was beyond him.

Isaac pulled away, rubbing his left wrist. "Dad said not to and I learned fast not to disobey him."

Mrs. Goldstein frowned, and sighed. Isaac suddenly felt like the worst clichè ever. But instead of calling him on it, Mrs. Goldstein looked up at Derek, holding out her hand. "Mem Goldstein."

Derek reached out and took it. "Derek Hale."

Isaac dropped his talit bag. Had Derek actually shaken someone's hand? Isaac picked up the bag, glancing up at Derek's face, but it was its usual stoic 'must not freak out the humans' mask. What the heck?

Mrs. Goldstein smiled, as if Derek were being completely friendly. "We should have the two of you over for dinner sometime."

Oh, boy, Derek was going to freak. Actually, Isaac was going to freak. Clearly, Mrs. Goldstein was seeing through Derek's 'perfectly ordinary' act and was going to be calling up the the Department of Family Services when Derek...

"I'm sure Isaac would enjoy that," Derek said, noncommittally. Isaac glanced back to see the corners of his mouth turning up, as if he was trying to smile politely but his heart just wasn't in it.

Maybe Derek could pull off 'competent but socially awkward.' That would work.

Isaac wasn't sure, but he thought he caught a slight whiff of nerves from the alpha. He opened his talit bag, murmuring the prayer and then draping the shawl over his shoulders. Derek raised an eyebrow at him as Isaac sat down, shifting his keepa restlessly.

"You're fine, Derek, the talit is optional, but don't mess with your keepa."

He was idly reminded of his first ever children's service where his mom had threatened to hold his hands through the whole thing if he didn't quit playing with the skullcap. Isaac remembered the smile on his father's face as he'd gently chided that Isaac would be wearing a keepa a lot, and he should get used to it.

Isaac's father was a very different person around his mother--he had high expectations, sure, and when they weren't met he he was firm and resolute, but he seemed to be slightly amused under his disappointment, and would correct Isaac with words and the occasional trip to his room instead of with fists, thrown glasses, and locked freezers.

Isaac gulped, trying to focus. He pulled a prayer book from the pocket in front of him, surprised when Derek did likewise. 

Rabbi Fleshman strode onto the beema, and the congregation fell silent. Rabbi Fleshman told them to turn to page 20.

Isaac gently took the book from a confused Derek, showing him that the pages went the Hebrew way--right to left instead of left to right. 

"Thanks," Derek whispered, as if Isaac had just handed him something he had dropped. Derek leaned back in the chair, looking at the book. Derek's tension seemed to go down a couple notches, from 'there's a hunter around every corner' to 'nothing to see here.'

With Derek's tension down to normal levels, Isaac was sort of glad that he was there.

For awhile, Isaac just let the service wash over him, reveling in the familiarity, the _joy_ of it. The Goldsteins' slightly out of tune singing underneath that of the three person choir combined with Harry Silverman playing guitar filled him with a sense of celebration, and the familiarity of it was comforting. 

During the Torah Service, Becky balanced her copy of the Stone Chumash, the book which contained the Torah reading, over both of their legs so that they could both follow along. He tried to focus on Rabbi Fleshman's sermon, but a slight movement caught his attention: Becky was braiding the fringes of her talit. Isaac bit back a laugh; he couldn't believe that she hadn't outgrown that: before she'd turned 13 and had her own, she had always braided her father's talit's fringes. Except for the two months between when Isaac had turned 13 and when she had. Then she'd braided Isaac's. Maybe he'd had a friend besides Matt after all, it was just that he'd always thought of the Goldsteins as his father's friends. He realized that, more than 'Dad had said not to' was the real reason he hadn't asked Mrs. Goldstein for help before.

Like the Rabbi, Isaac honestly hadn't thought she would believe him.

Rabbi Fleshman finished his sermon. Isaac took a breath as the Torah was returned to the ark and they said the Alenu. The Mourner's Kaddish, what he was here for, was next. He wasn't sure he was ready.

Derek touched Isaac's shoulder. Isaac really wanted to know how Derek knew when he needed that.

Rabbi Fleshman asked the mourners in the congregation to please stand. Isaac did, although his knees felt like jelly. The rabbi was going to go around the room, asking everyone to say the name of the person they were there to remember.

"Would it be disrespectful if I stood too?" Derek asked, in tones so low that he doubted another of the pack could have heard it from across the sanctuary, certainly low enough that even Becky sitting on his other side wouldn't hear.

"Wait for it," Isaac replied in the same soft tone.

Derek touched his wrist, and, instinctively, Isaac moved, taking Derek's hand without really thinking about it.

He realized what he was doing, and was about to pull away, but Derek's fingers closed around Isaac's hand in response. Isaac took a deep breath. OK. He could do this. He watched the Rabbi's eyes, waiting for them to alight on him. 

"M..." Isaac's voice cracked, and Derek's grip tightened. "My father, Joseph Lahey."

He waited for a reaction from the crowd. Gasps. Applause. Someone to tell him he'd killed his father--he hadn't, but only because Matt had beaten him to it--something, but Rabbi Fleshman's eyes flicked on to Anthony Goldstein's family-- was it five years since Anthony's Grandmother died already? Anthony's father had said her fifth yartzheit, so the fifth anniversary of her death. Five years. Wow. His life had been turned upside down twice since then, and even so it didn't feel like it had been that long.

"Please join our mourners in standing," Rabbi Fleshman said.

Derek let go of Isaac's hand as he stood and it was all Isaac could do not to grab it again, except that Derek's hand went to Isaac's other shoulder, so that his arm draped loosely around him. Isaac wanted to bury his face in Derek's chest, to take in the scent of him, but he wouldn't be able to pray from that position, and he didn't think Derek would allow it even if he could.

He wished he could rattle off the prayer on his own, at breakneck speed like he would for his bar mitzvah lessons, when Rabbi Fleshman had told him it was good that he knew his stuff, but he needed to slow down for the congregation.

"Yitgadal, v'yitkadash sh'mai rabah." (May your great name be magnified and sanctified.) Isaac tripped over the blended words, familiar though they were, as he tried to keep his voice even. Derek drew him a little closer, their sides touching. The words flowed easily, and a few minutes later it was over and the rabbi was giving the final announcements and leading in the blessings for the kiddush.

Isaac led Derek out into the oneg, the sanctuary vestibule, handing him a cup of grape juice and piece of challah, snagging one of each for himself. And two of the brownies. One of which he might actually share with Derek.

Derek drank, then ate the bread as Isaac did, somehow understanding that he wasn't supposed to speak until he did, although folks around them were chatting before doing so. It was a habit that Isaac had picked up from his father, a more conservative tradition of not speaking between blessing the food and eating it. Isaac still found it odd that his father would keep to some of those more conservative traditions despite having helped to found this reform congregation. Or maybe that wasn't the only reason that Derek hadn't said anything: he was alternating between looking at Isaac and at looking anywhere but at Isaac.

"Go on," Isaac said, growing uncomfortable with Derek's suddenly uncharacteristic need to be diplomatic.

"Why?" Derek asked. "Why do this for him?"

"Partly it's for me."

"But..." Derek paused.

"My anchor?" Isaac mouthed.

Derek nodded.

Isaac handed Derek the second brownie, fingers brushing Derek's hand. "Come with me." He went to the back of the synagogue, where the photo collages hung. They showed the congregation's history, firsts, and some candids taken at weddings and either bar mitzvahs or bat mitzvahs, a few temple picnics, and some pictures taken at youth group lock ins from when Isaac was in preschool that Isaac was pretty sure the high schoolers who had taken them would be mortified to know were still hanging up there.

"Is that you?" Derek asked, eyes drawn to one of the pictures. "That..."

"Doesn't look like any picture of my dad you've seen?" Isaac said. "Yeah, that's my folks and me right after my bris. And man am I glad that was taken _after_ my bris. Dad was different when Mom was still here."

He led Derek a little further down. "This one is from when Dad was president."

"Why's your mom wearing a head scarf?"

"Chemo," Isaac said quietly. "You can see the light kind of going out of Dad's eyes too. I was ten."

Derek stared at the picture, as if looking through it and thinking of something else.

"Derek?"

"It's nothing."

"I still don't know what I could've done differently..."

"People change, Isaac," Derek said, "when things happen to them they just... change."

Isaac had the distinct feeling they weren't just talking about his father, but Peter as well. Derek had given him strict instructions not to fully trust the man. Given what he'd pried out of Stiles and Scott, Isaac could see why.

"Yeah, I guess," Isaac said.

"Isaac, _here_ you are," Becky said, coming up and grabbing him by the arm. "Can I drag you over to talk to Abe and Jacob for a minute; they're getting into a language argument and I need your help."

"I don't have..."

Becky handed him the congregation library's Hebrew-English dictionary.

Isaac glanced up at Derek.

"I'll be here when you're ready to go," Derek said. "Or I might get another one of those brownies."

"The kamish bread's good too," Becky said as she dragged Isaac away.

Isaac suspected there might have been some plotting going on, as he could've sworn that he saw Mrs. Goldstein heading towards Derek as Becky was leading him away.

* * *

It was half an hour before Isaac managed to pry himself away from the Torah study group, leaving the dictionary in Becky's care, and find Derek.

"Sorry," Isaac said.

There was a flash of something in Derek's eyes, but it was gone before Isaac could name it. Instead, Derek pulled his car keys from his pocket, and handed Isaac his talit bag. Isaac also noticed that his windbreaker was draped over Derek's arm.

Isaac removed his talit, folded it neatly, putting that and his keepa into the crushed velvet bag that he was embarrassed to admit that he'd left under his seat in the sanctuary. He wondered if one of the Goldsteins had found it or if Derek had realized that he'd left it. Derek had already left his borrowed keepa somewhere, so Isaac just accepted the windbreaker and put it on, then followed Derek to the car.

"We're having dinner with your friend Becky next Friday night." Derek unlocked the Camaro.

"Mrs. Goldstein is kind of insistent." Isaac almost wanted to apologize, but he just opened the door to the car and climbed in.

"Is that where Becky gets it from?" Derek growled and he closed the car door behind him.

Isaac just shrugged apologetically and buckled his seat belt.

"When is this Torah study group thing anyway?"

"Wednesday afternoons," Isaac replied.

Derek rolled his eyes, which might have had a hint of red to them. "Do you really want to take an hour bus ride for a fifteen minute drive?"

Isaac stared, realizing what Derek was actually asking. "You're serious."

Derek buckled his seat belt.

"What about Erica and Boyd?"

Derek started the car, checking the traffic around them. "They'd never have left if we'd been acting like a pack."

"I don't see..."

"In there, Isaac, that's Pack." Derek took a deep breath, and for a second there, Isaac was afraid that he was going to start to unload on all of his shortcomings. Instead he backed out of the parking space and into traffic. "What kind of car is behind us now?"

"SUV," Isaac said.

"Make and model."

Isaac started to turn around to look.

"Don't be so obvious!"

"Do born werewolves come with eyes in the back of your head? 'cause I don't seem to have grown any."

Derek sighed. "You've got the rearview and the side mirrors. Catch the make and model, then listen for the engine noise to change."

"All engines pretty much sound the same."

"No, they don't," Derek said. "Not to us. You just have to learn to pay attention."

"Pay attention to what?"

"Compare the engines of all these cars. Your hearing is better than it's ever been. Use it. Tell me when a different car is following us."

"OK," Isaac said, trying to pick out the differences between the Camaro's engine, the coup ahead of them, and the larger car behind them. Or was it a larger car?

"It's a sedan now," Derek said.

"It's going to change ten times in the parking lot!" Also, he'd had what, a minute to try to figure it out?

"You still need to pay attention!"

Isaac rolled his eyes as he settled back down in his seat. It was going to be a long ride back to Beacon Hills.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Incidentally, the title is the Hebrew word for family. My first ever Teen Wolf fic (and only about a month after finally giving in and watching the show.) Hopefully I did it justice.
> 
> As with my other Days of Awesome story, this idea hit me during Yom Kippur services, I guess there's plot bunnies in the air at my shul or something.


End file.
